It's 2025.
When I open my eyes in the morning, this is what I see.
It's just a photo, framed on my bedroom wall, but I've planned it this way. It's purposefully placed, a kind of "photo-therapy."
This one image is everything I need to get out of bed:
Street sounds.
It's the view from my Paris Airbnb, which I admit was a nice place to be first thing in the morning.
I can still feel that duvet on the toes of my bare foot, smell the owner's leather jacket hanging in the closet, hear the bell ting on the city bus below.
But there's more.
This photo captures a moment I always savor -- even at home -- that delicate space between asleep and awake.
or tried to digest food,
or juggled "too big" ideas,
or tackled the "to-do" list on which I'm already behind.
I'm not yet zapped of energy -- or frustrated by discomfort -- as I trek the distance others go without much effort at all.
In this one moment, there is just me and that open window. My body is not fractured, and the day is still whole, pointed with possibility like sun through a magnifying glass.
It's all the motivation I need.
On New Year's Eve in Scotland, at the stroke of midnight, people open the doors of their homes -- front and back -- to let the old year escape and the new year rush in.
My friend Jen will tell you we did it this year.
"Quick! Go!"
In my small apartment, she rushes to open the "front" hallway door while I yank open the "back" door to the balcony.
It's raining outside. The air blows cold with moisture, car horns, and the boom of fireworks we hear but can't see.
(By time I remember this tradition, it's 12:15 AM, but we get it done!)
The new year is OPEN for business, and I open my whole self to it.
Open mind.
Open eyes -- and senses.
Not every day will feel this way, I know. Some days, I won't be able to leave the apartment because of leg issues or abdominal pain.
Other days, I'll carve a slow path around the block.
On the best days, I'll explore locally. Or, if I'm lucky, farther.
Wherever I go, I'll write.
I've got other projects too. Ideas are plentiful this time of year. The journey may change shape along the way, but isn't that what adaptive travel is all about?
I'm "open" to it. (Want to come?)
Get up. Get dressed.
Let's see what's beyond that window.
Rebecca
